


The Scent of You

by tsundanire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Breathplay, Come Marking, F/F, F/M, Have I mentioned Scent Kink?, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humour, Implied Marking, Knotting, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Quidditch, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Smut, Werewolves, mild choking, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundanire/pseuds/tsundanire
Summary: After a chance encounter leaves his new sense of smell reeling, Harry discovers that being a werewolf has more to offer than he'd ever imagined.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 24
Kudos: 601
Collections: Taste of Smut Fest





	The Scent of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarchnoGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarchnoGirl/gifts).



> I just want to thank—most especially—Eva for being so incredibly patient while I dealt with things that made writing this practically impossible. You should be commended for your ability to deal with shit-heads like me LOL. Suffice it to say, it's done now! I'd also really like to thank Eva for their beta work on this, as well as thunder_of_dragons for additional last minute beta-ing. You both are greatly appreciated, more than you know. <3

+

If Harry was ever asked to pinpoint the exact moment he knew he was completely and utterly fucked, it would be the second Draco Malfoy threw his soiled jersey at Harry’s face—post Quidditch game. 

With the return of several students who’d missed their seventh year at Hogwarts, there were rumours floating everywhere about both the war heroes and the villains. Harry tried to put a stop to it from the start, stating that everyone was in this together and that the only way to move on was to let go of the past. 

He acknowledged that he was one of the worst culprits for holding a grudge, but at least he could admit that about himself and still actively work on changing that. 

The first thing he did was to lead by example, taking his time to sit with one Draco Malfoy and a few returning Slytherins. Harry figured that if they could at least make a show of making amends then the rest of the school could do the same—or at the least, leave them alone.

“Alright there, Malfoy?” Harry called out to the passing blond, who looked up with a rather perplexed expression. Steel-grey eyes narrowed, but the blond head bowed in a nod. At least they were trying. That was all Harry could ask for. 

—

The war didn’t end with the Battle of Hogwarts, as they all quickly and quite sadly learned. The Aurors still had so many dark wizards to round up, and it felt like for each person they found, several more popped up, committing horrible atrocities in the name of someone who wasn’t ever coming back. 

Among the worst ones was Fenrir Greyback, who continued to attack any Muggle-born students he could find, slaughtering their families and forcing them to become dependent on him. At the time, they had no idea that Greyback had slowly been building an army, wolves as bloodthirsty and insane as he was. Harry had been in a squadron at the front lines, throwing himself into every battle, as if nothing else mattered but the fight. 

It all fell apart midway through summer. 

Harry had been working with a small contingent, scouting out a possible den. There were rumours of feral children being smuggled in and out of the area. Going on instinct, he suggested his team check it out. 

Of course, it had absolutely been a trap, and the only thing Harry could recall—before waking up in a secure ward at St Mungo’s—was teeth and claws slashing into his thigh.

The physical damage was only second to the mental damage Harry had to deal with. The doctors were in and out of his room, as were his superiors from the Auror department, who gave him honourable commendations as well as discreet discharge orders. Which was really only the polite way of saying “you fucked up, and you’re fired”.

His dream of working as an Auror had fallen flat, but it didn’t seem to matter when faced with the news that he’d managed to get his entire team killed in that one raid. 

The hospital had kept him under strict observation for the first month, testing him during his first full moon. They told him over and over that the first shift was the worst, but Harry figured he’d been through much worse—including dying. 

As he lay shivering in the hospital bed a few days later, Harry had a newfound sense of appreciation for Remus, Bill, and the others. 

Once they established a baseline and determined—during the second month—that he’d be perfectly fine with a bit of Wolfsbane, Harry went back to his regular activities. He’d had plenty of visitors in that time, but none of them could really lift the dark cloud that surrounded Harry once more. Many of them knew not to press the issue too hard, as they’d all learned the hard way over the years what could happen when Harry snapped. 

The only one who that wasn’t a problem for was Harry’s old Transfiguration Professor—and current Headmistress—McGonagall. To be fair, she didn’t take anyone’s flack, especially Harry’s.

She came by twice a week for tea, bringing with her an assortment of biscuits that melted in Harry’s mouth. In their discussions thus far, McGonagall had explained her idea regarding inviting former Sixth year students—who hadn’t come back due to the war—to return and finish their final year at Hogwarts. 

Harry hadn’t understood why she’d argued so vehemently for his own return, until he’d arrived and seen how both former and new Slytherin students were being treated. From the first of September, Harry had supported them and made it clear that despite his past grievances with some of the students from that house, he bore them no ill will. He didn’t go so far as to tell them what Malfoy had done for him, or Narcissa for that matter, but Harry single-handedly ensured that no Slytherin student would be harassed for things beyond their control. 

Of course, that went both ways. He’d made it clear to the Slytherins as well, that any untowards behaviour would not be tolerated simply because he was offering a figurative olive branch. 

—

With term starting up again, Harry found himself devouring the workload in a way he hadn’t truly appreciated in the past—without his mind constantly occupied by looming doom. Hermione had found herself a new dedicated study companion, which Harry liked to think was also her way of ignoring her rather messy breakup with Ron. Or rather his with her. Actually, Harry wasn’t entirely sure who was responsible for what, but what he did know was that Ron hadn’t planned to return to Hogwarts, Hermione did, and for some reason everything stopped working. 

Harry had been there for both his friends, but they understood he couldn’t choose between them, especially now when he was going through his own life-altering changes. Between his harrowing ordeal and the start of term, Harry had sent letters to every friendly werewolf he knew. In an unusual display of humbleness, Harry asked for help, suggestions, anything that might help him get through the changes each month. However, the most problematic hurdle came during the week of his first full moon of the school year. 

The one thing Bill had mentioned, almost in passing as if in an afterthought, was something so small and innocuous enough that Harry hadn’t let it phase him. Whenever a werewolf found _the one_ , it was not quite love at first _sight_ —but rather, love at first _scent_. 

Bill explained that nothing compared to Fleur’s scent on a regular day, but on the week leading up to a full moon? Forget it. His inner wolf was typically mild-mannered, and calm, but he claimed that during that one week, her scent was stronger than any lust potion. He’d place money on it. 

Harry had gotten a little embarrassed by that, but knew it was probably something out of animal instincts. 

Of course, Harry wasn’t overly concerned since there wasn’t anyone even remotely close to a partner in his life, let alone a soulmate like that. Just a little crush. Okay, perhaps more than little. 

Following a spontaneous Quidditch game hosted by the Eighth years—in which Draco and Harry were not even remotely allowed to search for the Snitch, and instead were forced to be Keepers nowhere near each other for the entire game—they hit the locker rooms to shower. Harry’s team had won by a landslide. But it had been less thrilling of a win when he’d barely been able to face off against Draco. 

Not fighting side by side in a race for the Snitch was the only reason Harry could think of—until later, when alone, staring at the canopy of his four-poster restlessly—for not realising his problem sooner. Draco, in his frustration at having lost to Harry _yet again_ , had thrown his freshly dirtied jersey right at Harry’s face. And Harry, being the absolutely pining moron that he was, _inhaled_.

People went by him without noticing, most simply laughing and talking game stats to each other, before hitting the showers. Harry, however, was stuck in that one moment. The moment when his whole world came crashing down around him because of Draco’s _scent_. 

The sounds of showers running, and peals of laughter ringing out against tile, seemed to drown out Harry’s rising panic. On the one hand, there is no way in _hell_ he just sniffed his former nemesis’ jersey. On the other hand...Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as his inner wolf seemed to uncoil itself and stretch. Bill’s words flashed through his mind briefly: ‘ _...during that one week, her scent is stronger than any lust potion…_ ’

Without bothering to say goodbye, change, or shower, Harry forced his body to turn and run right out of there. The problem was, left to make its own choices, his wolf would have strutted right into the shower area and completely marked itself all over the blond Slytherin. Which, given the fact that he’d singlehandedly been vehemently protesting against the mistreatment of Slytherins, would have been a _very_ bad thing. At least, that’s what he continued to tell himself as he ran full tilt towards the castle. 

It didn’t even occur to him—until he was safely locked in his room, cock in hand, wanking so hard and fast he was likely going to have some chaffing to deal with—that he still had Draco’s jersey in his hands. _Oh, fuck me_ , Harry whimpered quietly—despite the very heavy sound Muffling Charms he’d thrown up after locking his door—and bit down on his lower lip, before shakily bringing the fabric to his face. 

Almost immediately, his knees buckled, forcing him to relinquish his cock in favour of catching himself with one hand braced on the edge of his bed. It was mildly awkward being bent over the side of his bed, but if he closed his eyes, Harry could _almost_ picture some unknown person bent forward in front of him, chest pressed into the mattress, arse up and willing, as Harry pressed into him. 

Of course, the jump from “unknown person” to “Draco sodding Malfoy” was not that far a jump when he was this far gone—especially with that jersey practically shoved in Harry’s nose. 

His mind was clouded over with lust, hardly a coherent thought besides ‘ _mine_ ’ and ‘ _rut_ ’. Not that he was bothered by the need driving his entire system forward. Not when each inhale of the jersey made his cock harder, or his blood rush through him faster. Settling into a rather strange rhythm, Harry alternated languid hip thrusts right up against the side of the mattress, with inhales of the jersey. It was probably a horrible idea—one he’d likely either feel sick over or at least mentally chastise himself over later—but Harry let his mind wander, imagining burrowing himself deep inside his former nemesis. 

The air felt thick, sweat dripped down Harry’s forehead as he ground himself against the fabric of his bed; and despite the fact that all he wanted to do was mark his territory, Harry tried to hold back for as long as he could. In a moment of pure feral desperation, he moved Draco’s jersey from his face to the bed, balling it up enough to fuck into. On every inhale, the scent was so strong, it wouldn’t have mattered where the jersey was. The added bonus now was, the jersey was catching the rivulets of flowing pre-come that dribbled out of him on each thrust forward.

“Fuck, Draco,” the agonised moan fell from Harry’s lips like some heathen’s lusty prayer. 

Fashioning a makeshift sheath out of Draco’s jersey, Harry fucked into it with a renewed sense of urgency. He was going to come any second, all because he could smell Draco right there. Despite the rough texture of the jersey, Harry didn’t slow his pace, not even when—seconds later—he shot out his climax into the fabric. Instead of moaning, he came on a roar, his throbbing cock soaking the jersey with shot after shot. 

Yes, in all likelihood, the regret would kick-in shortly. But for a singular moment, Harry felt...content. Sated. Almost happy. 

The jersey. _Shit._ Draco was going to be looking for it. And it was covered in Harry’s come. _Shit._

On the one hand, a few spells would probably be able to remove the stains...But Harry didn’t have the brain for it at the moment, and at the thought of un-marking the jersey pulled a low rumbling growl from Harry’s throat. It was possessive, and completely animal. His wolf was not going for it. No, he’d have to return the shirt, with stains, and hope to Merlin Draco didn’t notice. 

—

Evening meals were always interesting as an older student. The Eighth years tended to sit all together, at the end of one of the houses’ tables—they rotated to keep it fair—and kept to themselves while watching the younger students mill about in a flurry of activity. There was more house unity now than there had ever been in their six years of eating together. 

For Harry, especially, watching the bonds develop between classmates was awesome. Watching his own friends turn into guiding mentors, engaging in study sessions to help the struggling students with their workload. What had surprised Harry the most, was the growing bond between Hermione and Pansy. 

Apparently forged initially over a bottle of firewhiskey and bemoaning their equally heartbroken states, it wasn’t long before they spent almost every waking minute together. Turns out, Pansy was quite the fierce competitor, and, when the opportunity was right, could also be quite the fast learner. Now, Draco and Hermione still had her beat in terms of grades and general academics, but Pansy was quick to pick things up from Hermione, and put it into practice with her own little gaggle of learners. 

“Oh! ‘Mione, we still on for tonight? I’ve got about three feet of parchment due for Flitwick tomorrow.” Pansy slid into her usual seat beside Hermione. Harry grinned as he watched them banter about late papers, while shoving forkfuls of roast down his gullet. 

“—and, honestly. At this point I’m just going to make you a checklist board so you can keep track.”

“Do I get rewarded when I’ve been a _good girl_?” Pansy teased, waving a bit of crusty bread about. 

“Well, I mean-,” flustered, Hermione stuttered. 

Harry rolled his eyes, snickering between bites of yorkshire pudding. It was unfortunate that he’d chosen that particular second to eat a rather large bite, as the doors to the Great Hall opened, and Draco Malfoy sauntered in. Wearing. The. Jersey. 

In their old summer days together, Ron and Harry had gone through a phase where they tried to make magic work with electronic Muggle devices. More often than not, the devices shorted out and stopped working. That sensation seemed to be about the best descriptor Harry could think of for what his brain currently felt like. 

As if Draco’s scent alone wasn’t enough to drive him nearly up the wall with lust, but now he was also covered in Harry’s scent. He was completely marked by Harry. Even if no one else knew. Harry knew. His inner wolf was practically insane with desire and possession. 

Harry had to get out. If he stayed, it was very possible Draco would get a lot more of Harry’s attention than he bargained for. 

“Harry! Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Hermione snagged his shirt sleeve. Harry shuddered as Draco moved closer after having been flagged down by Pansy. 

“I’m just not feeling too great. Need some fresh air,” he murmured. The wavering in his voice must have been enough of a sign for Hermione, who let go and nodded, eyes filled with concern. He knew she was worried about him, which he appreciated, but he was barely holding it together as it was. Unfortunately, Harry still had to pass Draco—even with a table between them—in order to get out. As they moved, Harry’s eyes flicked up, catching icy blue hues starting blatantly back. Fuck. He knew. Draco knew what Harry had done. 

The inner wolf growled, practically salivating at the challenge in Draco’s expression. Harry didn’t waste any time, hot-footing it out of the hall and into the corridor. He kept speed walking through the corridors, until he found an empty one at last. Pressing his face into the wall, he allowed the cold stone to ease the heat surging through his body like a fever. 

It was only then that Harry realised he was sweating. Draco’s expression was burned in his mind. By purposely wearing the jersey, Harry could only assume Draco was trying to suss out the person who soiled it; but what did he think now that he _knew_ it was Harry?

“Where’s the Gryffindor bravery, Potter?” Draco’s voice called out from the end of the hallway. Harry’s head shot up, eyes wide with equal parts panic and arousal. “Or did you rush out of there because you had a hot date with that wall?” 

There was an edge to Draco’s voice, a bit of a sneer that was more forced than real. Harry could only assume Draco was attempting to put a bit of distance between them emotionally, despite walking forward and closing the distance physically. 

“I...I’m really sorry.” Harry attempted. He’d never apologised to the blond before, hadn’t even considered it really. And he’d hardly planned on doing it now, but the words fell out of his lips before he could stop them. Draco’s brows rose high on his head, as if he too hadn’t expected that. 

Lengthy legs sauntered forward, one painfully slow step at a time. 

“I see. And, what is it exactly that you’re sorry for, Potter?” 

The closer Draco got, the harder it was for Harry to hold back. He was practically digging his fingers into the hard stone as it was, more as an anchor to keep himself from bowling Draco over. Staying pressed against the wall had the added bonus of keeping his visible arousal out of view of the blond. 

“Uh… You know…” Harry nodded towards the jersey Draco was wearing. Fuck, even thinking about it was making his head swirl and fog up. Their combined scents were getting closer, Draco’s making him practically rut against the wall. 

“No, no, I don’t know.” 

“Mrrghh, Malfoy, stop,” Harry groaned, unabashedly grinding against the wall now. “I really need you to stop and not get any closer.”

When Harry looked up again, Draco’s eyes were wide, pupils dilated as wide as they could be. 

“You need to back off. Walk back the way you came.” 

“Are you turning right now?”

There was a hint of fear in Draco’s voice, but a bit of something else, too... Was that awe? 

“No. Not for— _mrggngh_ —a couple of days. Just go.” 

The sound of footsteps marching back down the hall was both a relief and agonising. On the one hand, Harry could pull away from the wall now, and walk right out the doors of Hogwarts until he’d managed to reach the Quidditch pitch. On the other hand, having Draco’s scent so close made him almost snap, but having it further away was even worse. It took every ounce of restraint he had to keep from running after the Slytherin. 

He hated that he’d already returned the jersey, wishing instead he’d kept it for longer, long after the scent had faded. 

—

The lack of sleep was quite apparent on Harry’s face the next morning. Everyone could see the dark circles under his eyes as well as the pale pallor tinging his skin. While activity flurried around him, Harry let his cheek rest on the table, practically melting into the wooden grain, while he listened to Hermione pour herself and Pansy—who’d yet to arrive—a cup of tea. 

“Harry, have you taken your potions yet? You’re looking a bit peaky,” Hermione commented while putting some food on her plate. 

“Mm,” Harry grunted in reply. 

“You know, if it’s harder on you this time, we should either talk to Madame Pomfrey, or maybe even McGonagall? Don’t push yourself, Harry, and think about—”

“I’m fine, ‘Mione. Just a bad night of sleep,” Harry grumbled. He wasn’t in the mood for the lecture she was clearly gearing up to give. Thankfully, he was saved by the arrival of Hermione’s newest companion: Pansy.

“Oh, hello there, doves. Aren’t we looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning?” 

Admittedly, the sneer in her voice was _not_ helping as much as Harry thought she would. With a sigh, Harry closed his eyes and tried to drown them out with the sounds of wallowing in his own misery. 

“Thanks for your help last night.” Pansy’s voice had softened when she spoke to Hermione. It was odd, but then again they seemed to be getting closer, so it made sense. 

“It was no trouble at all.” Hermione sounded almost... _flustered_. “We should, erm, definitely do it again sometime.” 

“Oh, really?” Pansy’s inflection had changed again, almost teasing or playful. “How about this weekend? We could head over to Hogsmeade for a bit, and then _study_ some more.” 

Hermione made a strangled noise that pulled Harry’s attention. Opening his eyes, he saw that she was bright red, and stammering; meanwhile, Pansy was resting her chin in her palm, grinning. 

Odd. But Harry didn’t have the time to linger on it further because the doors to the Great Hall opened and trouble flew on the wind right for his nose. 

_Mine_ … 

Dear God, he needed a muzzle for his inner wolf. He was barely keeping it together before, and now that lush scent was floating towards him, Harry’s mind was filled with a thousand and one ways he wanted to take Draco right here in the Great Hall. Each scene was as vivid in his head as if it were actually happening. From sweeping his arm across the table and slamming Draco’s back into it, to hoisting the blond up around his waist and fucking him while standing upright. 

Lost in his thoughts, Harry hadn’t noticed Draco getting closer until it was too late, and the blond had slipped into the seat across from him. _Sharp inhale_. Harry’s body shot up, briefly locking eyes with Draco—who seemed startled by the sudden movement, but otherwise tired—before bolting out of there, ignoring Hermione’s shouts for him to stay. 

It wasn’t until he was safely back in the comfort of Gryffindor tower that Harry realised Draco still had a lingering smell of his earlier marking. 

Harry moaned. He took the stairs two at a time, until he was safely behind closed doors once more. The castle had provided quiet, single rooms for the returning Eighth years, so at the least Harry knew he had some privacy as he ripped off all his clothes, and stomped his overheated body into a cold shower. 

Even with the practically ice-cold water pouring over his fevered frame, Harry still felt as hot as molten lava. Looking down, he saw his cock was still quite hard and showing no signs of softening in time for classes. With an annoyed grunt, he took his cock in hand and started stroking from base to tip in even, quick strokes. Every now and then, he’d add in a quick grope to the fleshy sacks just below. 

There was no way he was in love with _Malfoy_. Sure, they weren’t fighting anymore, and given time, it was possible to become friends, but like hell was he going to believe his physiology was responsible for falling in love with Malfoy. 

And yet, as the shower water dripped down his back, over his chest, and between his thighs, all Harry could think about was seeing Draco naked and dripping beneath this shower. Harry panted as he imagined what the prat would look like, hair falling in his face, body slicked with water, hands touching himself the same way Harry was. _F-fuck_ , Harry bit his lip to keep himself from moaning, but the idea of watching Draco pleasure himself was incredibly intoxicating. The heat ramped up a thousand degrees, making Harry feel as if he were in a sauna, despite the water being frigid. 

He could see it, just there in front of him: Draco running his hands over his body, just teasingly touching himself everywhere that Harry wanted to kiss—all while winking at Harry and taunting him for trying to get too close. 

‘ _No, you stay right where you are, Harry._ _Wait patiently, watch me, and I’ll give you a reward for being such a good boy_.’

Unable to hold it back anymore, Harry moaned loudly as he continued to stroke himself, and the sound echoed reverberated across the tiled bathroom walls. His imaginary Draco moved slow, tantalizingly so, until _finally_ he grasped his cock with a firm hand, giving a few solid tugs from base to tip. Fuck, he was so incredibly beautiful, even if it was just in Harry’s mind. Draco was all limbs and attitude, packaged in the creamiest of wrappings. Harry wanted to beg, to fall on his knees and beg for just a taste. Imaginary Draco smirked, moving his wrist faster and faster. 

‘ _Open up, Harry,_ ’ Draco murmured as Harry sank to his knees, practically shouting as his orgasm overcame him. His shots of come washed down the drain before he could even think about everything that had just happened. Including the sure amounts of guilt he was likely to experience the next time he came face to face with Draco. Pun excluded. 

“Open up, Harry!” 

His hearing returned in a rush, and with it the sound of pounding at his bedroom door. Hermione hated being late for classes, especially if Harry was the reason she was lagging behind. Harry quickly rinsed the rest of himself and dressed in half the time it usually took, while using charms to dry the rest of himself off. 

By the time they made it to class, most of the students had already shuffled in and had taken their seats. Hermione and Harry grabbed one of the last tables at the back, which was not ideal since Hermione tended to complain if they were anywhere but front row. She was already starting to raise a fuss when Slughorn clapped in order to gather everyone’s attention. 

“Welcome, welcome students. Today we’re just going to get right into it! If you’ll all turn to page three-seventy-five and gather your ingredients from the storage, we can get brewing. I don’t expect perfection today, but let’s try not to melt any cauldrons today, alright, Patterson?” Slughorn grinned in what they assumed must have been a cheeky way, but the war had taken its toll on the Potions Professor physically. 

Harry flipped to the right page in the book and blinked. Why did it seem like everything was pointing him in one direction this week? With a sigh, he let his head fall down to the table. Hermione tutted and went off to get their ingredients. 

**P375**

_ Essense of Lust _

_The perfect recipe for a brewer interested in purely physical infatuation._

_For this potion, you will need:_

_1 Cauldron_

The first sign of trouble came just at the end of class. Harry had gone the entire time without a single accident. It was incredible, but it helped having Hermione as a partner. That being said, it wasn’t like they were always completely infallible; and despite the numerous precautions Harry took during the brewing process, all it had taken was catching a whiff of Draco’s scent lingering somewhere for just a moment. It could have been the blond headed down the hall back to his dorms, or perhaps the scent simply floated through the classroom from down the hall. Whatever the reason, Harry’s entire body jolted as if pulled towards the scent, which caused him to accidentally bump into the cauldron while Hermione was stirring. Both of them were splattered with the contents. 

Panic rippled through the class, and Hermione yelled at Harry to close his eyes, lest he become infatuated with the first person he sees. Harry did as he was commanded, but he didn’t feel overly affected by the potion. If anything, what he’d felt yesterday was worse. By the thousands. 

“Ah, Miss Parkinson! Since you delighted us all with your spontaneous presence, perhaps you could escort these two to Madam Pomfrey and see they are well tended to? The rest of you, stay clear of the potion’s remains.”

“Here guys, let me help you.” 

Harry couldn’t see, but he felt Pansy’s hand on his arm and assumed the same had to be true of Hermione. 

“No! Wait don’t touch—” Hermione shrieked, but it was too late. Unable to resist a peek, Harry opened his eyes and watched as shudders ran through Hermione. Her eyes were also starting to open, but at that point it didn’t matter. Pansy was utterly still, but with eyes opened brilliantly wide as Hermione shoved Pansy against a wall and kissed her with a thoroughness that left even Harry breathless. 

“I, uh, I’ll let you guys...be. I’m gonna take myself...” Harry’s awkward and quiet small talk was drowned out with the sound of soft moans and gasps. Averting his eyes, Harry turned and made his way directly to the Hospital Wing, his nose allowing him to pick up the scents of people far enough in advance to avoid them. 

And after being poked and prodded, and thoroughly cleaned by the gentle-as-sandpaper Madam Pomfrey, they came to a fairly solid conclusion. 

“It seems your physiology takes over in the case of potions like this. For lack of a better explanation, it seems you are immune to the potion’s effects, Mr Potter. On your way then.” 

“Alright. Thank you.”

—

Harry stood outside the Hospital wing, with no real plan. He supposed he ought to head back to Potions and collect his things as well as Hermione’s. There was a slight ping that resonated in the back of his head as he thought of his friend, where she might have ended up, with Pansy of all people. Harry couldn’t judge considering his own predicament, and was happy that his friend could find some comfort after dealing with a broken heart. During the whole walk back to the dungeons, Harry thought about what Ron might be up to, if he was happy, too, and what he might think about what was happening between the two girls at this very moment. 

They were due for a Floo call this weekend, but Harry hesitated following through since he wasn’t sure he could hide the information from his best mate.

“Potter!” Draco’s voice jolted Harry out of his thoughts, causing him to jump back in panic. _No, no, this was not good._ “I need a word.” 

Harry stood frozen in place, eyes wide and panicked. There it was again, that scent, heavy and thick, wrapping around Harry in a kind of trance. His eyes fell shut, his breathing increased until he was panting, and still that sweet, sweet scent filled his nose.

“Not now, Malfoy,” Harry practically growled. 

Either Draco wasn’t getting it, or he was purposely ignoring the warning, because Harry could hear the clapping steps of his shoes against the stone floor. 

“Excuse _you_ , Potter, but _my_ friend is missing. She was supposed to grab a book from _your_ friend after class. And then she was supposed to meet me after so we could finish—” 

Before Draco could complete the sentence, Harry pinned him against the stone wall. There was a noise not unlike a growling snarl, which Harry realised was coming from him. He grabbed the front of Draco’s uniform with his fists, and despite the aggressive energy radiating off of him, the whole thing felt extremely intimate considering they were practically breathing in each other’s space. 

When Harry looked up, he could see a myriad of emotions running over Draco’s face. Everything from fear and panic, to… _Oh God_. 

“Fuck. No.” Harry whimpered. 

But there was no denying it. The scent was there. It was Draco’s scent, which was already completely maddening, intoxicating, and largely the reason Harry’s rational mind had completely disappeared these days; but buried within it—or rather, woven together like thread in a tapestry—was a luxurious scent somewhere between sex and heaven. 

“Potter,” Draco whispered, as if he were terrified of talking any louder. 

“I can’t control it,” Harry hissed. There was heat radiating between them, though given the last two incidents, Harry was sure it was mostly coming off of him. Still, despite his attempts to let go and walk—or run—away, Harry pressed his body closer. Mistake. Huge mistake. 

The slow grind of his body against Draco’s brought to light a rather _pointed_ problem. Between Draco’s—quiet but clearly aroused—sigh, and the rather hard length poking into his thigh, Harry felt like he was going to go mad with desire. Draco’s eyes fluttered closed, lashes fanning delicately across dusty pink cheeks. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. 

“Then don’t,” Draco replied, confidently. 

Harry groaned and slammed his fist against the wall behind them. “You can’t possibly know what you’re saying. Please, don’t make this harder for me.” His voice softened to a whimper, as if he were the prey begging for mercy, and Draco was the predator hunting him. 

“You sure about that, Potter?” The tone in Draco’s voice had him looking up, catching the heat in Draco’s eyes. 

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ And then, in a last ditch attempt to get Draco to walk away—because Harry knew he didn’t have the strength in him to leave—Harry communed with his wolf, finding the strength of the beast empowering him, and wrapping around him like a blanketed aura of dominance. “If you don’t leave now, I’m going to do something both of us will regret later.” 

“Don’t make assumptions on my behalf, Potter. Shut the fuck up and kiss me already, you fucking-Mmmff!” 

Harry did exactly that, the last of his will washed away as he shut that mouth up with the intensity of his kiss. His conscious mind tried to memorise the feel of Draco’s lips, the soft plushness of them, almost like the soft skin of a peach, just before being bitten. The thought of biting Draco was unreal, pulling a groan from him, and forcing his body to grind forward against Draco’s. 

The air was muddled with Draco’s scent, peppered with the scent of both of their arousals, and fuck if that wasn’t the most life-changing thing Harry had ever smelled. He was starting to understand what Bill had been talking about before. Despite what they’d gone through, or the fact they could scarcely even be considered friends, Harry would die for Draco. There was something about the feral bonding scent building between them that labeled Draco as Harry’s. If not to anyone else, it was clear as day for Harry. 

Feeling incredibly possessive, Harry let his hands explore every inch of Draco they could reach, keeping him as close as possible. 

“Harry!” Draco gasped. In reply, Harry could only moan, and start a trail of teeth and lips down Draco’s neck. 

“Touch yourself for me,” Harry growled against him.

With shaking hands, Draco did as he was commanded, first unbuckling his belt, and then undoing the fastenings of his trousers. As the fabric parted, Draco’s cock bounced free, as if eagerly demanding attention as much as the blond did. It would have been funny, had Harry’s mind not been filled with thoughts of how good the reddened flesh would feel in his mouth. 

Pale, lengthy fingers slipped lower until they wrapped around the thick cock. The initial few strokes were slow, as if testing the water, or perhaps just Harry’s reaction. Maybe Draco felt the same way Harry did, as if this wasn’t real, just a dream. 

“Fuck,” Harry breathed. Struggling to swallow past the saliva building up in his throat, Harry watched his fantasy come to life as Draco stroked himself. 

Before he could even think about stopping himself, and ignoring the fact that they were still very much out in the open hallway, Harry dropped to his knees and burrowed his face right into the thatch of hair springing out around Draco’s cock. The heady scent was strongest here. Harry felt the drool pooling out of his mouth as he quickly undid the trappings of his own trousers. 

One hand wrapped around himself as he inhaled, eyes closing for a moment as he trembled. Above him, he could feel Draco switching hands in order to tangle one hand in Harry’s thick hair. The scraping of nails against his scalp felt incredible. 

“Look at you, Potter. On your knees for me, like a good boy.” Draco’s voice was edged with pleasure. Despite the fact that his wolf was typically dominant, Harry felt his cock twitch at those words. Between the praise, and the mild humiliation, he was a mess of pre-come and moans. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, Potter? Look at you, just gagging for it on the ground for me…” Draco’s hand sped up, as if spurred on by new knowledge of Harry’s interests. “Fucking hell, Potter. You would do just about anything for me right now, wouldn’t you? If I told you to suck me off? Would you be a good boy and do it?” 

Harry’s rational mind was long gone, his will to fight fled shortly after. Instead, all Harry could do was sit back on his heels, one hand fervently stroking himself off, while his mouth opened wide for Draco. 

“Fuck… Fuck, Potter that-nngh-” Draco arched over, spilling ribbons of come across Harry’s face, lips, and a shot or two in his mouth. The strangled groan that left him assured Harry that Draco was just as surprised by the quick climax. In a show of amused smugness, Harry felt one corner of his lips twitch up in a partial smirk, while a wet, pink tongue poked out to taste the flavour left on his lips. 

Harry’s hand continued its teasing touch, barely grazing over the hard but sensitive flesh. Small globs of pre-come leaked from tip to floor with each twitch of his eager cock. 

“Hmm, fucking gorgeous.” Draco murmured, tucking himself back into his trousers, then righting the fabric. “Why don’t you come back up here, Potter?” 

In a move as swift as a flash of lightning, Harry was back to standing, though this time it was _his_ back pressed to the wall. Draco leaned in, pressing a firm, heated kiss against Harry’s lips. Harry groaned eagerly, hands letting go of his cock to tangle in Draco’s hair, tugging as roughly as Draco could handle. 

Their bodies rolled against one another, while gasps and moans escaped Harry between each messy kiss.

“Draco, please…” Harry begged, though he could scarcely think what he was even begging for. He just knew deep down that Draco wouldn’t leave him in agony like this.

“Oh, poor desperate boy,” Draco smirked into their kiss. “I know what will help.” 

With that, Draco dropped down on his knees in an imitation of what Harry had just done. Except Draco actually followed through with wrapping his lips tight around the tip of Harry’s leaking prick. The scent of Draco’s climax still lingered on Harry’s face, drowning him in foggy desperation. He tried to keep his hips still, so as not to choke the blond on his knees, but the feel of that warm mouth sliding down as far as it could go, and the gentle tickle of hands on his bollocks, killed him. 

“F-fuck, that’s it, Draco. Just like that.” Harry panted, hands already threading and grasping Draco’s hair. It was the only thing keeping him grounded when the rest of him wanted to fly off into heavens.

He thought he heard Draco chuckling, but all he felt was mild vibrations running along the sensitive underside. Not that he wanted to complain about that. No, not when Draco’s mouth was a perfect blend of tightness and heat, and just the right amount of slick wetness, that had Harry panting like the dog-in-heat he most definitely was. 

“Nngh, gonna—” Harry started to warn, but Draco pulled off with a light pinch to Harry’s bollocks. 

“Not yet, you’re not,” Draco commanded. 

Harry hissed, feeling everything inside of him tense. Circe, he’d been so close, and now his body vibrated with _need_. 

“Draco, please,” Harry whined as he shook in Draco’s hands. “Please let me—”

And then in a move that surely had to have choked him, Draco devoured Harry’s cock almost completely to the base—which had strangely started to swell larger than the rest. It would have been concerning, had Draco not insisted on using both hands to wrap around it, stroking as quickly and efficiently as he could, causing Harry to practically black out. 

When Harry looked down, mostly to beg for permission, Draco’s little nod and mischievous expression was enough to send him shooting hard into Draco’s throat. The entire time, his hands were tangled tight between strands of white-blond hair, trying _not_ to guide him, but still managing small thrusts into Draco’s incredible mouth. Aftershocks shivered through his body, all the while he tried to mentally recover and try to understand what the bloody hell just happened. 

But before he could even think to ask, Draco was already standing and righting his robes. Less than a second later, the Slytherin turned on his heel and left. 

—

Two days left before the full moon. And things were starting to get...complicated. Since their _encounter_ in the halls, Draco had steadfastly ignored and avoided Harry in new and completely innovative ways. 

First it was ducking around corners, and just plain running away. But then, as the day progressed—and they strangely started bumping into each other _a lot_ that day—it developed into things like: Draco ducking in a crowd of people and just moving with the mass, despite sticking out like a sore thumb, or not-so-subtly summoning his broom inside the castle for a speedy get-away—only to be halted by Headmistress McGonagall and marched straight to her office, all the while her lecture streamed through the echoey halls like some kind of Howler gone rogue.

True to form, however, Harry’s wolf was not going to let it go so easily. Harry felt bad, but he was getting to the point that separating his own rational _human_ thoughts from his _feral_ self was getting difficult. The closer they got to that inevitable shift, the more he wanted to stake his claim and mark the man from top to bottom. 

And as night drew nearer, the clawing need tugged at Harry’s mind once more. Draco’s scent was like a path through the halls, showing Harry where the man had been throughout the day. Harry’s own scent was still somewhat attached to him, but it was starting to wane. And then...Harry picked something up. It was Draco’s scent but there was something else. _Someone else_. 

With narrowed eyes, Harry picked up the trail, following it slowly and radiating aggression to anyone who dared look his way. Of course, they weren’t even remotely tied to each other, but that was a _rational_ thought, and Merlin knew Harry was not feeling rational right now. 

No, he wanted to find out who this other scent was, and tear him apart with teeth and claw. A rumbling sound of warning echoing down the stone halls—causing terrified students to scamper into the nearest classrooms or broom closets—came growling from Harry’s throat. 

The scent trailed down the hall and around the corner, but even as he followed it, Harry couldn’t see an end to his hunt. Until he followed the scent towards the great hall, down the corridor and right out the massive double doors that kept Hogwarts closed. _Outside?_ The second scent was just as strong as Draco’s now, and while it seemed familiar, Harry was feeling far too aggressively possessive to figure it out. 

Winding paths led him out to the lake, and each inhale was more maddening than the last—making him rock hard in his trousers. What was it about Draco? Or was it just his scent? Was there something more growing between them or was he just imagining it? Harry felt like he was going mad with all the theories and complex emotions he’d never had to struggle with pre-wolf. _There_ … Just ahead, at the lake. Harry was going to thrash someone, whoever it was, just for standing too close to _his_ mate. A small sound—not unlike a growl—escaped him, forewarning both Draco and whomever he was with, that Harry was getting closer…

“What the hell was that? Sounded like something.. Like a-” Pansy started. 

“A wolf…” Draco sounded hesitant. Perhaps he knew already what was heading his way, or maybe he was worried that something untamed was coming after them. 

“A wolf? Seriously? You must be joking.” Pansy scoffed. 

Harry finally rounded the corner, to see the two friends packing up textbooks and scrolls of parchment. Pansy was still rambling on, but Draco’s eyes were fixed on Harry’s. A bead of sweat trickled its way down the side of his pale face, but considering the temperate weather, it seemed misplaced. Which likely meant it had everything to do with Harry’s sudden—and possibly aggressive-looking—presence. 

The blond sent a kick towards his companion, encouraging her to not only look up, but to also perhaps depart and let them be. Whatever the secret signal was, Pansy took one look at Harry, and jettisoned out of there at practically the speed of light—leaving Draco and Harry to stare at each other across a few feet. 

Like predator and helpless prey, Harry started to circle Draco, herding him closer to the center. Perhaps the most surprising thing to Harry, was that despite the way he was moving backwards—towards the tree arched over the lake—Draco appeared not to be afraid. It wasn’t written in his body language, and it certainly wasn’t anywhere in his _scent_ … 

That scent, Merlin help him, was an ambrosia of lust and excitement. Was it possible? Did Draco secretly want this just as much? With what little coherent thoughts he had left, Harry tried to make his intent very clear—as the idea of taking without consent sickened him despite his inner wolf’s thoughts to the contrary.

“Need you to walk away, if you aren’t sure about this.” Harry twitched, the wolf hating the intentional denial of things to come. “I can’t hold back much longer.”

The rumbling growls from Harry were the only thing punctuating the silence as Draco appeared to contemplate his options. Silver hues caught nearly glowing emeralds, and a voice that trembled with suppressed desire answered.

“Then don’t hold back…”

Closing his eyes, Harry took in the words with pure satisfaction. If his wolf could purr, it would have. Moving quickly forward, Harry reached out and snagged the front of Draco’s shirt, tugging it forward and sealing their lips together in a kiss that spoke of firecrackers and dynamite.

Harry’s hands relinquished their hold on Draco’s shirt, freely exploring instead. One hand tangled up in the hair on the back of Draco’s head, while the other hand wrapped around Draco’s throat—squeezing just slightly. After a beat, he let go.

Breaking the kiss, Harry pulled back to watch as Draco’s lashes fluttered against rosy-hued cheeks. It was sweet, but he needed more. Desperately so. “Your robes are going to get a little dirty. Better take them off.” Harry mused with a tone that was more command than polite request. Draco responded in turn with an expression that seemed both shocked and incredibly aroused at being bossed around so smoothly. 

Threads of scent filtered through Harry’s nose, feeding him information in ways his human nose could never decipher. To call them pheromones wouldn’t have been entirely accurate, however, as Harry could also track the slightly salty smell of sweat currently wicking down Draco’s back. There was also a slightly fresh smell coming off of the Slytherin’s robes, which Harry attributed to the grass and breeze flowing around them. But with one day ‘til the full moon, Harry’s sense of smell was refined enough to catalogue emotions through scent as well. Such as the constant shift between fear and arousal, which was mostly spicy—like mulled wine, cloves, and smoked cinnamon—but held a tinge of something vinegary. 

As the blond started undoing the clasps of his robes, the layers changed once more, filtering the powdery soft scent of shyness in with the others. Harry hastily dropped his own clothing to the ground, forming a little pile from both sets of robes. As Harry moved in, Draco’s cheeks burned red, but that wasn’t going to stop him. While Harry would stop if he was asked, the embarrassment seemed to be stemming from a different place. Perhaps at submitting so thoroughly to Harry’s desires, or maybe at being so exposed beneath the golden Gryffindor. Whatever the reasons, Harry was ravenous for his former nemesis. 

“Turn over.” Harry growled softly into Draco’s ear. 

Relenting, Draco rolled himself from back to stomach, bringing his knees in a bit to give Harry a better angle. Whispering a spell to slick himself, as well as Draco internally, Harry then gripped himself to prod and tease Draco’s entrance. The Slytherin squirmed and whined, making the kind of mewling sounds that drove Harry wild. Which was saying something considering how close to feral he already was. 

“Just do it.” Draco groaned, wiggling his hips back and forth. 

“What do you mean?” Harry placed his hands on Draco’s cheeks, spreading them apart just slightly. 

“I’ve already… I mean I-...” Draco hid his face in his arms, confining a groan. “I’m… going to be able to take you… I already… I wanked for Merlin’s sake. And already took something inside me this morning.” 

In Harry’s stomach, something squirmed. Below, his cock pulsed eagerly. “Is that right?” Pressing forward at an angle, Harry tried pushing forward and found very little resistance. “Nngh- Fuck, D-Draco you...Tell me about it. I want to hear everything.” His voice was rough with need. 

“I-I was thinking about you.” Draco groaned, lifting his head. “I was picturing you, as I- _hn_ -rode my toy.” 

Harry could feel the embarrassment, the shame, coming off Draco, but the mental image embedded in his head from the blond’s words made his cock throb eagerly. 

“Next time, you’ll be riding me. I’ll make sure of it.” Harry practically growled in Draco’s ear, hips slowly pistoning their way in and out. Every inch of himself was surrounded by slick, snug, heat; his mind slowly getting lost to the dark fog of desire that overwhelmed his senses. Draco groaned, hips pushing back against Harry of their own accord. 

“F-fuck, Potter! You can’t just,” Draco paused, a moan unable to be held back despite his chatter. “Don’t make promises you’ll regret in a few days, when the moon is waning.” 

Harry paused, tip half-submerged inside the wriggling Slytherin. 

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. The way you smell to me…” Harry closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations all over again. “I doubt I will ever forget now.”

A dangerous sound escaped him as he surged forward again, hips moving at a slow and incredibly frustrating pace—and soon enough, Draco’s soft gasps evolved into heavy groans. Harry was completely enraptured by the feeling of being so deep inside the blond, he didn’t even realise how hard he’d been gripping those lithe hips until he un-clenched his fists and revealed crescent-shaped cuts and markings—so red they were sure to bruise. 

Stilling for a moment to catch his breath, Harry had a half second before Draco’s patience ran thin. Shifting carefully to his palms and knees—and with an initial test of pushing his hips back—Draco quickly found the perfect angle, and began rotating his hips back and forward against Harry—ultimately fucking himself on Harry’s cock—which in turn brought Harry far too close to the edge for his comfort. 

“OI!” Harry snarled in warning, swatting Draco’s arse cheek so hard his handprint glowed red against the alabaster skin. “Slow down, you fuck, otherwise I’m liable to bust too soon.” 

“Can’t. Stop.” Draco panted, mouth dropping open and head tilting back. Harry’s hand reached around the front of their rutting bodies, grabbing about for a feel of Draco’s cock. Though he couldn’t see it, he could smell without a doubt how close Draco was, and how much of a puddle was forming beneath them from the leaking droplets falling into their robes.

“D-Draco, slo-” Harry warned again, but the Slytherin was far too invested in chasing after his own orgasm to hear. 

“No, No-Can’t. F-fuck so close, Harry~” Draco whined as he seemed to hit an even better angle. 

Before Harry could say another word, he felt the tell-tale swelling at the base of his cock. It bulged to the point that pushing all the way into Draco was becoming difficult. But undeterred—and with a determination that had Harry thinking this was what Draco wanted this whole time—Draco closed his eyes with a grimace, and pulsed his hips until his tightness stretched to accommodate the sudden extra girth. The knot itself was so incredibly sensitive, as if the flesh was wrapped in the same nerves that covered the underside of his cock. So as the tight flesh yielded, Harry could only drag his nails down Draco’s back, and let loose a sound somewhere between a moan and a howl. 

“Shit. Shit. Fuck. I’m com-” Draco started to cry out but could barely get the words out, as his hand reached down, flying across slicked skin. Seconds later, Draco’s body was wracked with spasms, high keening sounds filling the air as he splattered the ground with white ribbons. 

Harry hadn’t made it past the feel of stretching Draco past the widest point of his knot. The moment Draco’s rim completely engulfed him, Harry was shooting hard within the blond’s depths. It was a feeling he could never have explained beyond a bone deep, soul deep, satiation. 

With a mild collapse to the side, Harry grabbed Draco to lay with him. While it was done out of a sense of protecting their tie, he couldn’t complain too much. Burying his nose in Draco’s neck, it was easier to pick out the distinct scents of calm, content, and sleepy. 

“Did I hurt you at all?” Harry asked, voice a soft murmur. Draco made a scoffing noise. 

“Hardly. If anything, you were far gentler than I expected given the full moon is tomorrow.” 

Harry’s brows rose. “Are you asking me to go full feral on you? Because I’m telling you right now, I refuse.” 

“No, not full. But I don’t want you to treat me like some piece of precious porcelain either.” Though Harry couldn’t see Draco’s expression, based on the sound alone, Harry could surmise there was a bit of a pout. It made the corners of Harry’s lips twitch up in amusement. 

“Fine. If I promise to get a little rougher with you, will you promise to do this again with me?” Harry proposed. Internally, he was embarrassed at having put the words out there, but by Merlin, he knew there was no way he could live without drowning in Draco’s scent again and again. 

“I think that goes without saying, Potter.” Draco mused quietly. 

“Back to last names again, are we?” 

“For now. I like how your name sounds when I’m moaning it for you. And I don’t want you to get overused to that feeling.” 

“Is that right?” Harry growled, nipping at the tender flesh of Draco’s neck. “You’re tempting me to go again just to hear it.”

As the moon rose in the sky, Harry and Draco eventually separated and dressed, heading back to their respective dorms with minds focused on what the next full moon might bring them. 

END


End file.
